Talking to God

     I struggled this year over what to give up for Lent. After dismissing chocolate, mirrors, and books, I began to worry that the start of Lent would come and go without me making a decision. What if I couldn't find something? What if I only found something the week after Lent started? It was then that I realized I had a habit that would be more difficult to give up than books: worry. In the end, I decided to try giving up my habit of worrying about each and every detail of my life. And while I didn't succeed in avoiding worry for the entire six weeks, it did teach me some interesting lessons.
     It taught me to pray more. I'm not talking about the prayers before a meal, or at a stoplight, or at confession time in a church service. This is the constant state of prayer when you know that if you let down your guard for a minute, you will fall back into the trap you just left. The concept of relying on God is one that cannot be taught or explained. It must be experienced firsthand. Arcane descriptions pale when replaced by real life understanding.
     It showed me how to replace worry. A vacuum will always seek to be filled, and a plan for banishing worry must include a substitute. Determined thankfulness worked at times. Listing my blessings worked as well. Praying out loud helped a great deal. Did I always do this? I had my days. But the veil was lifting, and I began to see worry for what it was. Fear. Ingratitude. Myopism. And I began to let it go.
     It taught me to face the unknown. Facing my worry brought me to the larger question: What do I really fear? What is the great, underlying fear of any of us? The unknown. To take any step in life we have to face the fact that the possibilities of what can happen are endless, and at times terrifying. Most of the time, we forget this, until a death, a natural disaster, a horrible accident forces this truth back at us. Perhaps this is why one of God's greatest promises to us is not that He will shield us from any and all harm, but that He will be present in it. His name, after all, is I AM. The psalms teach us that we cannot go beyond the reach or understanding of God. Wherever we go, He is there and has been there before us. Whatever pain we encounter, He has experienced it and can empathize. We cannot know the future. But we know what it will be like. We know that God will be there, unchanging, eternal, omniscient. For now, that is enough.
     This Easter Sunday I will rejoice that my Saviour's sacrifice bought my forgiveness before God. I will be glad in the knowledge that I am set free. And I will stand in the house of the Lord, and savour my freedom to live free of fear.